


Tradition

by ishichan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:50:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishichan/pseuds/ishichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sif celebrates her victories with Loki. Written for Porn Battle XV. Prompts: rough, oral, triumph</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tradition

Anticipation was always more of an issue for Loki after any battle than before. His tastes were not so, that he did not care for the battles themselves, although you could not say that he could match his companions' enthusiasm for the fighting. 

No, his blood rises for the aftermath, for the celebration. 

He has watched her fight numerous times, cutting down the enemies of Asguard, powerful, yet compellingly graceful. None moreso than the Lady Sif enjoys the battle, the bloodshed and none celebrates her victories more thoroughly.

In those nights there will always come the moment when she strides into his chambers, tradition demands without knocking. She is radiating heat, eyes glowing with the fire of the battle and wine she has consumed. 

He will grin his most mocking grin and bow lightly. "My Lady, I did not expect to see you here at such a time? Are there important matters to discuss?" And she will frown, but not too long, because he does this every time and she has simply gotten used to it. Loki always tries to make everything a game of sorts.

"Discussion is not something I had in mind for your tongue this night." Now she will wear her own grin, sharper than his and showing teeth. It’s a familiar dance for them.

_No more words._

Instead she crosses the distance between them and kisses him, pulling his body against hers, her mouth hungry for the taste of him.

Armor clashes loudly to the floor, followed by the much softer rustling of clothing until they're both bare beneath each other's touches. Cool lips trace the line of her neck as she grips his wrists and pulls him back with her, towards his bed. She lets go and sits down, all the while looking up into his face. Her breathing has quickened and there is the hint of a smile on her lips.

"Kneel down."

It gets her another of his grins and another bow, but he obliges all the same. He deserves the nickname Silvertongue, she decides once again as she writhes beneath his skilled ministrations. It’s most tantalizingly enjoyable, his mouth on her cunt, his fingers curling inside of her. Her hands clasp the bedding, fingers clenching and unclenching almost rhythmically. He is teasing her still and she hasn’t got the patience for it, so she pulls at him, at his hair, until he complies and moves his way up her body. She kisses him again, teeth pulling at his lips when they break apart.

"Did I not please you well, my lady?" That grin, always that grin and the way he avoids her name, she can't stand it anymore. She flips them both over then and raises herself up. 

He is already hard, yet Sif encloses her hands around his cock, teasing him with a few rough strokes before she mounts him fully. This has been drawn out too much, she decides as she always does and starts moving her hips in a brisk rhythm that leaves them both gasping and moaning. Her fingers are pressed against his chest, curling into his flesh, drawing blood, at which he hisses lowly. His own hands have found their way into the ends of her hair, always her hair, pulling until she reciprocates the sound. 

"Sif." Finally her name escapes him in a low moan. She basks in it, another secret trophy for her to keep hidden in the back of her mind.

"Sif." His hips lift from the bed to meet her movements frantically now, while his hands have moved to her own, clasping hard at her flesh. 

Her orgasm has her bending forward, hips rolling and pressing hard against his with each movement. She moans and whimpers and holds onto him until the feeling subsides. Her heartbeat is strumming through her ears like a cannon when she slips off him and drops herself onto the bed next to him. 

It is only the touch of his hand on her own that pulls her out of her contented trance. Loki is smiling as he traces the little scars on her skin, a genuine smile this time. Thoughtfully he bends forward and kisses her knuckles as gentle as can be, but she can see the mischief in his eyes returning already. It's when he pulls her hand towards his chest, that she notices the long red streaks she has marked him with.

"I will wear them as proudly as any battle wound."


End file.
